


The Unholy Trinity

by miss_begonia



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Pegging, Plot What Plot, Porn, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No way,” Santana breathes. “I saw that, Hummel. You totally thought about it.”</p><p>“Thought about what?” Kurt says, his voice higher than usual. He narrows his eyes.</p><p>“You thought about me using this,” Santana says. “You thought about me using this with Blaine.”</p><p>Kurt’s pale skin is his biggest tell. He flushes, yanking the harness away from her and fumbling with the straps to hang it back on the wall.</p><p>“You liked it,” Santana says. “You freak."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unholy Trinity

"I don't know about this."  
  
Kurt is biting his lip. The glass tumbler in his hand is empty, but the alcohol clearly hasn't been enough to convince him.  
  
"You don't know about this?" Santana wraps her arm around Blaine from behind, tugging him close. He sways a bit on his feet. "What don't you know, Hummel? Your boyfriend is hot. I'm hot. You totally want me to fuck him while you watch."  
  
Kurt flushes the prettiest pink. Santana can feel Blaine trembling. She knows  _he_  wants this. They've talked about it when Kurt's not around, Blaine's voice hushed like he thinks Kurt might come in at any second, like he might know, somehow, wherever he is, that Blaine's being dirty. Santana knows Kurt's got Blaine on hardcore lockdown, but she also knows Blaine likes being naughty.   
  
She thinks it’s her duty to show him how.  
  
"I'll do what you want, baby," Blaine murmurs, and she can see Kurt's eyes darken even in the low light of the hotel room. God, Blaine's a pro. She wonders how long they've been doing this, if it's always been this way - this playing pretend. She wonders if the first time they did it Blaine gave it all up, or if he made Kurt work for it.  
  
Kurt lets out a shaky breath. "Okay, but only if you do exactly what I say."  
  
Blaine reaches out and takes Kurt's hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing his fingertips. His eyes never leave Kurt's face.  
  
What is Santana even thinking? Of course Blaine gave it all up right away. He's  _Blaine_ .  
  
"I want to get him ready," Kurt says, no argument allowed. Kurt really is the bossiest little waif Santana has ever encountered. No surprises there. She is a tiny bit thrown, though, when Kurt yanks Blaine out of her grip and kisses him so hard Blaine moans.  
  
You're not supposed to think these things about your friends, but Santana had wondered. She'd wondered what Kurt and Blaine were like behind closed doors because they're so careful in public, so tame. They've been together more than two years now, and she thinks she's seen them kiss maybe twice. They're constantly adorable, of course, all long looks and flirty touches and arms around each other's waists and ridiculous endearments, but never this. Never Kurt licking at Blaine's neck and shoving his shirt off his shoulders, hands proprietary and forceful and not careful at all.  
  
"Kurt," Blaine whispers, but Kurt's busy with Blaine's pants, pushing them down over his hips.   
  
Santana has no strong feelings about boy bodies, but she's seen enough of them to know Blaine has a nice one - all tight muscle and proportion, nothing out of place. She can see his back muscles flex when Kurt's hands run down over his bare shoulders, his waist pinched in, ass round and firm.  
  
"Don't mind me," Santana says, and Kurt glances up as if he's suddenly remembered she's there. Blaine's only wearing boxers now, and Kurt palms him through his shorts as his eyes meet Santana's. There's a glint there that reminds Santana of herself. Kurt may be an annoying diva sometimes, but she's always appreciated his inability to back down from a challenge. Baby doll's got cojones.  
  
" _Kurt_ ," Blaine says, more urgently this time, almost a gasp. As Santana watches, Kurt slides his hand into the back of Blaine's shorts, teasing. Blaine is clutching Kurt's shoulders, his breathing gone ragged.   
  
Santana remembers what it was like to have that kind of power over someone. Her chest tightens.  
  
"Are you gonna be good for Santana?" Kurt asks. "You gonna let her fuck you?"  
  
Blaine shivers. Santana can see him curl closer into Kurt, press back into his hand.  
  
"Blaine," Kurt says, his voice even and clear.   
  
He's good at this. It's weirdly hot.  
  
"Yes," Blaine says, sibilant, and Santana can tell the moment when Kurt pushes a finger in because Blaine's eyelashes flutter and his lips part.   
  
Yeah, Blaine is pretty for a boy. Santana can tell why Kurt keeps him around.  
  
"I'll make you feel so good," Santana says, her voice coming out husky. "Just like we talked about."  
  
Kurt's eyes flash, and Santana can't see what he does. Blaine groans, sudden and loud.  
  
"You like that?" Kurt whispers.   
  
Blaine answers him with a messy, open-mouthed kiss.  
  
  
  
 _24 hours earlier_  
  
  
  
“You’re not going to freak me out, Santana,” Kurt says, fingering a leather whip. “I have been to a sex shop before, you know.”  
  
Santana scratches a fingernail across Kurt’s cheek just to see him twitch. “Well, aren’t you fancy, New York boy.”  
  
Kurt straightens and puffs up like the peacock he is.   
  
“I’m not some kind of puritan, that’s all I’m saying. You can’t shock me.”  
  
Santana arches her eyebrows, then turns around and picks the first harness she finds off the wall. It’s a bit more strappy than she likes, but the leather’s nice, smooth. The dildo that’s attached is a good size, not ridiculously huge and thankfully not some sparkly My Little Pony color. Santana will never understand that instinct in sex toy designers – what, because lesbians are women they want their fake penises in pastels or jewel tones?  
  
She slides the straps over her shoulders and licks her lips, swaying closer.  
  
Kurt’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t push her away. He stares at her for a moment too long, eyes glazing, before frowning and turning his patented bitch face on Santana.  
  
“No way,” Santana breathes. “I saw that, Hummel. You totally thought about it.”  
  
“Thought about what?” Kurt says, his voice higher than usual. He narrows his eyes.  
  
“You thought about me using this,” Santana says. “You thought about me using this with Blaine.”  
  
Kurt’s pale skin is his biggest tell. He flushes, yanking the harness away from her and fumbling with the straps to hang it back on the wall.  
  
“You liked it,” Santana says. “You  _freak_ .”  
  
Kurt’s mouth tightens. Santana knows the moment she says it that it was exactly the wrong thing to say.   
  
Sometimes Santana forgets because Kurt’s so much in his element here, a flawless fashion plate who walks with his head held high. She forgets that Kurt went to McKinley too, that he was out before It Gets Better was a thing, before it was trendy to be queer, that he got beat up and called names, that he took the blows intended for all the secret gays of Lima, all the kids too fearful to wear their rainbow colors on the outside.  
  
“I’m going to go,” Kurt says.   
  
He texts someone on his phone, probably Blaine, probably something about how much he loves him and would never ever demean him by thinking about him getting fucked by a strap-on.  
  
Santana is not going out like this. She kind of likes Hummel now, and she definitely likes his sugar-sweet 1950s reject of a boyfriend. Opposites attract and all that jazz.  
  
“Hey,” Santana says, catching Kurt’s sleeve – silk, he’s wearing pale green silk and he looks amazing, ugh – and when he tenses she says, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m being a button-pusher. You’re no freakier than the rest of us.”  
  
“You win, Santana,” Kurt says, voice dull. “You’re the freakiest, we all bow at your freaky altar.”  
  
“Seriously?” Santana says, cocking one hip. “I’m trying to apologize, princess.”  
  
“What if I had thought about it?” Kurt says, lifting his chin. “Why would that make me a freak?”  
  
Santana feels her stomach drop. That was not what she expected Kurt to say at all.  
  
“If you’re a freak,” Santana says, “then we’re on the same freaky page.”  
  
She watches Kurt’s throat as he swallows.   
  
God, she bets he’s pretty on his knees.  
  
“I need to go meet Blaine,” Kurt says. “He’s done shopping with Rachel, and I promised I wouldn’t leave them alone too long.”  
  
“You should go then,” Santana says. “Too much Berry constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.”  
  
Kurt gives her a quick nod and pushes his way out the door.   
  
Santana lingers, running her fingers over the leather, considering.  
  
  
 _24 hours later_  
  
  
Santana could watch Kurt and Blaine kiss for hours.  
  
Right now Kurt’s got Blaine pressed against the wall, fingers working inside him as he swallows Blaine’s gasps. Blaine’s flushed, breathing hard, returning Kurt’s kisses with a desperation that’s ridiculously hot. It’s like he can’t breathe without Kurt there, opening him up, holding him close, biting at his lips, licking into his mouth.   
  
They kiss like people who know each other’s secrets.  
  
“God, Kurt,” Blaine breathes. “You keep doing that and I’m –  _fuck_  – this is going to be – ah – over before it starts—ah – ah—”   
  
Santana can see the vicious twist of Kurt’s wrist, and she knows he must be deep. Blaine’s eyelashes are fluttering and he’s biting his lower lip, breath coming fast.  
  
“Don’t make him come, Hummel,” Santana says, and the sound of her voice surprises her as much as it does Kurt, who starts. “You said you wanted to get him ready. Let me get him off.”  
  
“I never said I wasn’t going to get him off,” Kurt says, but he’s already retracting his hand. Blaine slumps against the wall, chest heaving. “Just because you’re going to fuck him doesn’t mean I don’t get to help.”  
  
Santana has no idea what Kurt’s trying to imply, but she appreciates the way he tugs Blaine onto the bed and pushes him facedown into it. His hand lingers at the small of Blaine’s back, palm cupping Blaine’s ass.  
  
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Kurt says, fingers tracing a teasing path along the back seam of Blaine’s boxers.  
  
“Yours,” Blaine whispers. “Kurt—please—“  
  
Kurt turns to Santana. He’s pink too, sweaty along the curve of his neck. His lips press up. “You’re on, Lopez.”  
  
Santana’s never done this in exactly this configuration before, and certainly never with two boys who are unlikely to appreciate how incredibly hot she is, but she’s a performer at heart. She’s gotta put on the best show whether her audience is there for her or for her fake dick. She slips her tank top over her head, eyes locking with Kurt’s.   
  
She knows he’s not hard for her, but man is he hard. This is a good look on Kurt – not so put-together, a little messed up.   
  
Kurt’s eyes flicker down to Santana’s nipples, then up to her face, and she winks at him as she slips the harness around her waist, fastening it. She pushes her skirt down with her underwear and watches as Kurt strokes over Blaine’s ass, proprietary and inviting all at once.  
  
She twitches her hips forward and watches Kurt swallow.  
  
  
 _18 hours earlier_  
  
  
“I’m listening,” Kurt says.  
  
He sounds like he’s talking through gritted teeth.  
  
“Have you talked about it?” Santana demands. “With Blaine?”  
  
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and then Kurt sighs. “No.”  
  
“Didn’t figure you for a pussy, Boy Cheerio.”  
  
“I’m not a pussy,” Kurt says. “Just because I haven’t talked to Blaine about  _double-teaming_  him—“  
  
“Sounds like fear to me,” Santana says. “You think I might be a better fuck? Is that it?”  
  
Kurt sputters.  
  
“Then you have nothing to worry about, honey,” Santana says. “One night, no strings attached, I go back to where I came from and you go back to your vanilla-candle-scented lovemaking with an adorable story to tell the adopted children when they’re old enough to be seriously traumatized.”  
  
“You’re a bitch, Santana.”  
  
“I’ve been called worse.”  
  
“So have I,” Kurt says.  
  
“He’s not going to leave you,” Santana says. “The worst thing he could do would be to say no, and I think we both know Blaine’s not one to use that word often around you, cowboy.”  
  
There’s a pause, and she hears Kurt suck in a breath.  
  
“I just got him back,” Kurt says, and he sounds surprisingly vulnerable. For a kid who can cry on command during a sappy ballad, Kurt plays his real emotions close to his chest.  
  
“He’s not going anywhere, Hummel. He’s just  _not_ . He’s way too hot for you and your ass-hugging skinny jeans.”  
  
There’s a pause so long Santana thinks Kurt hung up. Then she hears him clear his throat.  
  
“I’ll talk to him.”  
  
Santana knows that already means yes.  
  
  
 _18 hours later_  
  
  
Blaine shivers as Santana eases inside of him, the dildo slick with lube but still not as warm as Kurt, she’s sure. She wonders if they’ve used toys, if they’ve discovered how amazing that can be, or if this is the first time Blaine’s been fucked like this. He’s on his hands and knees on the bed, dark curls matted to the back of his neck with sweat.  
  
“Oh, God,” Blaine exhales. “Kurt – it feels—“  
  
Kurt crouches down in front of him, lifting his chin and kissing him. Blaine pants against his mouth, and Santana feels heat curl in her abdomen as she pushes all the way in. Blaine makes short, cut-off gasping noises as Santana rocks her hips, his head falling forward. Kurt strokes his neck, an oddly gentle gesture.  
  
“You like this, baby?” Santana asks.   
  
She wonders if they talked dirty to each other on the phone all those nights they spent apart, Kurt in New York and Blaine still at home in Ohio, if Kurt told Blaine how he wanted to fuck him like this, tease him until he begged, thrust into him until he came, messy all over his sheets.  
  
“Yes,” Blaine whispers. He’s gazing up at Kurt, and the look they share is so intimate and sweet it makes her nauseous. Figures these two could manage to be adorable even when involved in a semi-kinky three-way.  
  
“Can you—“ Kurt reaches behind Blaine and pushes on his lower back. Santana is tempted to tell Kurt to use his words, but then Blaine presses back, fucking himself down onto the dildo. God, that’s hot. She sits back on her knees and Blaine moves with her, groaning as the angle change drives her deeper. His back presses against her chest and she moans at the friction over her nipples.   
  
Santana’s maybe a bit more wound up than she thought.  
  
With Blaine in this position he’s more on display, and from the way Kurt’s looking at him, Santana’s guessing the view is nice. Kurt licks his lips, and before Blaine can lean in to kiss him again, Kurt bends himself in half in his impossibly flexible way and sucks Blaine’s cock into his mouth.  
  
Blaine goes a little nuts, writhing around in Santana’s lap. She doesn’t mind, as his movements create awesome pressure against her clit. She grasps Blaine’s hip and holds him still, filling him up but not thrusting as Kurt goes down on him.   
  
Santana’s never thought of Hummel as particularly sexy before, but there’s no denying he’s hot like this – hot because he wants it so much, teasing Blaine with flicks of his tongue around the head, sucking it between his lips, sinking lower, fisting Blaine’s cock at the base and bringing his lips down to meet his fingers.   
  
Blaine’s murmuring nonsense, “So hot – Kurt – your mouth – please—“  
  
Santana’s feeling a bit left out. She realizes Kurt is talented in this arena, but she’s part of this too.  
  
She decides to try out another special feature of this strap-on.  
  
When she turns on the vibrator, the effect on Blaine is immediate and hilarious. He stops babbling and groans, his hips jerking up and making Kurt choke. Santana quietly enjoy this. She is not just a prop, thank you very much. If Blaine wants a dildo inside of him while Kurt sucks him off, then Kurt needs to become a better multi-tasker.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Santana,” Kurt says, wiping at the corner of his mouth. His voice is raspy and his eyes are glazed. “If you wanted attention you could have just said it.”  
  
Santana grinds up into Blaine, who is clutching at Kurt’s waist and struggling to breathe. He’s so hard and wet from Kurt’s mouth, his skin flushed. Santana wraps her hand around Blaine’s cock, stroking, and Blaine cries out.  
  
“You close, sweetie?” Santana says, honeyed. “You seem like you might be close.”  
  
Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and gasps out, “I want – I want to come with Kurt—“  
  
“Oh my God,” Santana says, annoyed, but the vibrator’s doing its thing even if these boys are being useless, and every time she pushes up into Blaine it pulses against her clit. She bites back a moan.  
  
“Blaine, wait,” Kurt says, his eyes wide and dark. “Santana’s made you feel good. Let’s make her feel good.”  
  
“This is doing the trick,” Santana says, breath hitching, but suddenly Blaine’s moving off her, making pained sounds as he does. God, Blaine has a nice ass. It’s that ass that got her into his whole stupid mess in the first place.  
  
Blaine settles back on the bed, back pressed against the headboard, and Santana exhales, annoyed.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing, Hummel? That was just starting to get good for me.”  
  
“I want to try something,” Kurt says, and tugs Santana forward by the strap of her harness. “I need you to take this off.”  
  
“I think you’re confused,” Santana says. “What are you—“  
  
Kurt tugs harder at the strap, and Santana unfastens it in the back with a sigh. “You’re such a toppy little twink.”  
  
“Lie down on the bed next to Blaine,” Kurt orders.  
  
Santana slips off the harness and lets it fall to the floor, suddenly aware that she’s naked and Kurt’s still mostly dressed. His shirt is open a few buttons, but otherwise he’s clothed. Blaine, at least, is naked and still super-turned on, hand resting on his thigh like he’s afraid to bring it closer to his dick.  
  
“You need to tell me what you’re doing,” Santana says, voice low. “I am not your subby little boyfriend and I do not trust you unconditionally.”  
  
Kurt moves to the end of the bed and straddles her. He glances up and looks like he has a moment of indecision, but then he lets his eyes move down her body to where she’s wet.  
  
“I want to try something new,” Kurt says. “Blaine got to try something new.”  
  
Ah, so Santana was right. First time.  
  
“Explain,” Santana says.  
  
Kurt meets her eyes.  
  
“I’m good with my mouth,” he says, and Santana can hear Blaine’s breath hitch.  
  
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m down with oral always, but that seems like it’s not really relevant to your interests,” Santana says. “Why—“  
  
“Because I said I wanted to see him do it,” Blaine interrupts.   
  
It’s the first full sentence he’s managed in a while.  
  
 _Well then._  Apparently Santana and Kurt weren’t the only ones talking logistics behind-the-scenes.  
  
Santana reaches over and grabs Blaine’s cock. Blaine’s mouth falls open and he pushes up into the circle of her fingers.  
  
Santana is nothing if not experimental. She watched Kurt suck Blaine off. He is clearly skilled with his mouth.  
  
“Okay,” Santana says, “but I’m not faking anything for you two queers, so it better be good.”  
  
Kurt narrows his eyes, but he slides onto his stomach without a word, fingers trailing down Santana’s stomach and over where she’s aching.  
  
“It’ll be good,” Kurt says, and ducks his head.  
  
“Oh wow,” Blaine murmurs, then moans as Santana squeezes around his cock. Kurt’s tongue darts out, tentative at first, exploratory. He parts her lips and runs the flat of his tongue over her clit, making her gasp.   
  
Okay, so maybe Kurt’s been studying some diagrams or something. He seems to know where everything is.  
  
“Blaine, when I was fucking you, were you thinking of Kurt?” Santana says, pushing her hips up as Kurt teases her with his tongue.  
  
Blaine’s eyes are wide, his eyelashes dark against his blush-pink cheeks. He is unfairly pretty. She tightens her grip on his cock just to see his lashes flutter.  
  
“I always think of Kurt,” Blaine says.  
  
“What do you think about?” Santana says. Her voice is more breathy now. Kurt’s gone from alternating flicks of his tongue with sucking on her clit, which is making her crazy.  
  
“I think about him touching me,” Blaine says. “The way he twists his fingers inside me, how deep he can get.”  
  
Kurt moans.  
  
“Do you think about his mouth?” Santana strokes Blaine faster. She can tell he’s on edge, and the bitchy part of her wants to make him come before Kurt does.  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine breathes. “His mouth is – God, Kurt, your mouth, you make me feel so good, you know just how to—“  
  
Santana groans as Kurt finally concentrates his attentions on her clit, circling and lapping at it, merciless. She can feel her orgasm building, and when she arches her back to get closer Kurt just grasps at her hips and sucks harder, taking it.  
  
“You are good with your mouth,” Santana says. “I will give you that –  _oh, fuck_ —“  
  
Santana comes when Kurt digs his fingers into her hip bones, the pressure of his tongue perfect and the bite of pain just enough to make it even better. He works her through it, not stopping until she pushes herself up onto her elbows and puts distance between them.  
  
“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says, desperate, and Kurt sheds his pants and underwear faster than anyone Santana’s ever seen. In seconds he’s between Blaine’s thighs, grabbing his hips and tugging him forward. When he thrusts into Blaine she thinks Blaine’s going to come right then, he’s so worked up, but somehow he manages to hold off until Kurt licks his way into Blaine’s mouth, angling his hips and thrusting harder.   
  
“Fuck – baby – oh God, you’re so – Kurt—“ Blaine babbles between kisses, and Santana realizes through the haze of her orgasm that they’re sharing her taste between them. It’s so randomly hot she wonders if she could come again.  
  
“I love you,” Kurt breathes against Blaine’s mouth, and that’s when Blaine comes, fingers digging into Kurt’s shoulders, cock untouched. Kurt thrusts only twice more before groaning and burying his face in Blaine’s neck.  
  
“I love you so much,” Blaine says. “So much, so much, Kurt, I—“  
  
“Ugh, can it, Romeo and Romeo,” Santana snaps. “You’re ruining my afterglow.”  
  
Kurt turns to look at her, his mouth twitching up into a wicked smile. It’s not a look she’s ever seen on him before, but she likes it.  
  
“I did all right for my first time, huh?” Kurt says.  
  
“Probably your  _only_  time,” Santana says, but she can’t deny that he pretty much rocked her world. The unexpected and random skills of high-voiced gay boy fashionistas, who knew?  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kurt says.  
  
Blaine’s looking at her with such open adoration that Santana blushes.  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine says seriously, and Santana actually laughs at him.  
  
“You still having doubts, Hummel?” Santana says, smug as she watches Kurt slide out of Blaine, still looking shaken and flushed. “I told you I’d do him right.”  
  
Kurt’s eyes never leave Blaine’s when he says, “No doubts. No doubts at all.”  
  
  
[end]  
  
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